The broken streets, the morbid gloating, a vanilla sky,
Drenched in sweat and shower, reflecting the potions
Of profuse images, born in the womb of bottles and containers,
Reddish concoctions with peanuts and salt.
Effervescent the bottles, lull scattered outside.
Smile on the lips, persistent failure
Pushed by carts and hated by men, ignored by “respected” women
A broken mind and a smiling heart from the leaving woman, who didn’t wait.
When peanuts get over, ‘arektu chaat’.
To and from, we swing aloud in wonderous inebriation,
Feverish plight, fortunate sermons!
And voices from the crowds,
And someone smiles “why have you lived with so much pain”
I smile… “Tilottama Shome and Konkona Sen!!!”.